


my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i'm covered in you)

by Saint11Icarus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Basic Af, F/F, did anyone order soft grieving widow lumberjack?, lumberjack!Yasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint11Icarus/pseuds/Saint11Icarus
Summary: Yasha enjoys the quiet solitude of her woods. She came here to escape, but you can't run from what you surround yourself with-- and one day an unexpected visitor sends her tiny world spinning on its axis.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 14
Kudos: 112





	1. how's one to know i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones?

**Author's Note:**

> TIL that my writing style doesn't work when there is only one character for extended periods of time with no one to interact with. Luckily, that won't be a problem in the next chapter. So, for now, you get 1800 words of Yasha tending chickens. No one asked for this, okay? But its what's for dinner.

_*thunk*_

The axe landed heavy, echoing in the still autumn air, splitting straight through a log and burying into the wood beneath it. Yasha let her hands drop, leaning forward and flipping the two halves onto their flat lengths, pulling them back up into position tilted against the log her axehead was stuck in.

She adjusted her grip on the handle and, with a booted foot to keep the log on the ground, she gave a sharp pull and freed the axe.

_*thunk* *thunk*_

With two more short swings the halves became quarters and Yasha squinted up into the fading sunset.

She let out a sigh and swung her right arm in an arc, rolling a deep stiffness from her shoulder.

An Australian Shepherd lay on the grass nearby. He was watching her carefully and when their eyes met his mouth dropped open and his tongue lolled out to the side. She smiled and closed the distance with a few long strides, “Well, what do you think, Storm?” With a flick of her arm she sent one of her work gloves flinging to the cold packed ground. She folded over at the waist to ruffle his furry black ears between her fingers, “Are we about done for the day?” He gave a quiet woof in response and she snatched her glove up, its leather smoothed by use and discolored by fire.

He stood as Yasha did and waited patiently as she scooped down to gather the split wood in her arms.

“Alright, let’s go boy,” she grunted with the weight of the load and started off for a small cabin in the distance with Storm trotting along at her heel.

Yasha took a deep breath that stretched her lungs until they spasmed against the cold air and she had to let out a muffled cough against the collar of her jacket.

They crunched along through a thin blanket of fallen leaves, some finding their way into the tops of her boots. Yasha leaned around the pile of wood to see Storm spring into the air to snap at another as it drifted down.

She shoved her shoulder to the door and struggled with the knob. After some fumbling and grasping the latch slipped free and the door gave way to her weight, swinging open wide. She stumbled inside, adjusting the unbalanced mess of logs in her arms.

She turned and waited for Storm to cross the threshold before kicking the door shut. “It’s getting cold, huh?”

The tall woman dropped the fuel unceremoniously in a heap next to the fireplace that dominated the living room. She flung both her gloves off and grunted as she let herself fall back onto her tailbone, her long legs bent up in front of her. 

Soon, Yasha had a fire started and tiny flames licked at her hand as she stacked wood around it. Within minutes the living room was full of lively crackling. The sun had fully set and the living room was bathed in the deep orange glow, flickering and dancing against the shadows.

Yasha kicked back onto her elbows, stretching out in the radiating warmth. Storm scooted closer to her side, resting his head in her lap. She smiled at him and buried her fingers in the thick fur of his neck.

Her belly rumbled. Storm’s ears perked at the sound and his eyes darted up to hers. She let out a low chuckle and gave him one last pat, “I guess it’s dinner time, Stormy.” Yasha leaned forward to untie her boots, barely loosening the laces before toeing them off and setting them by the fire.

She stood and brushed her hands against the light blue denim of her jeans. Shrugging out of her jacket, Yasha moved across the room to the stove and tossed the flannel over the back of the nearest of two chairs at the kitchen table.

After she’d eaten, with her hips pressed to the edge of the sink and a dripping plate set into the drying rack, Yasha’s gaze fell on a light coming up from the trees. It was just off in the distance, warmer than the white glow of the milky way, and static-- without the irregular rhythm of a fire.

“What is that?” Her brow creased.

Storm let out a whine and she tore her eyes away from the window. “Okay, okay, okay,” she muttered, “I hear you, you’re ready for bed.”

The house grew colder as the woman and her dog moved down the hall, away from the prickling heat of the fire that still burned. She stopped at the linen closet outside the bedroom. Her hand rested on the knob for a moment before she twisted it sharply and swung it open. It was as she’d left it-- still and stale.

Shereached in and her hesitant fingers fisted into the thickest blanket. It slid free, revealing a filing box, cracking and worn and water damaged. She brushed the lid with her knuckles and shut the door.

“Let’s go then,” Yasha nudged Storm with her shin and padded back down the hall to the living room where she pulled the back cushions off the couch and settled down onto it. It was too short, but she tucked her knees up and shook the blanket out over herself, kicking out at it with her feet until she had them covered.

***

Yasha knelt down in the chicken coop, upending the water into the wood shavings and refilling it, pouring water from the bucket she’d carried out.

The three eggs fit in one of her large hands. She was careful-- they were fragile. Storm was still sniffing around the treeline when she propped open the door to the chicken run, letting the birds run out in a fluttering mess of feathers. She watched him for a moment before making her way back inside.

The shells joined the gristle and scraps of vegetables in the half gallon mason jar that she kept balanced on the windowsill. Mismatched eyes looked out over the forest but there was no odd glow in the distance-- just the bleak gray of the November morning. Yasha worried her lip between her teeth and turned back to the stove. The three eggs were frying in the sputtering fat melting from the bacon slices they shared the cast iron skillet with.

The food was rich, too rich for the way the time of year had sapped the color from everything. She ate slowly, watching Storm from the window as his twitching nose lead him back and forth across the clearing where their cabin was nestled.

She filled up a coffee mug from the tap to water the thirsty, long-stemmed plants that lived on a rough-hewn bookshelf between the kitchen and living room. Reaching out to finger a delicate green leaf, Yasha smiled softly. “Good morning,” she whispered. Her eyes flicked to the broken spines of paperbacks in need of dusting before sliding closed and a hand came up to dance wide fingers across her lips.

With a pleased sigh she turned and headed for the door.

Yasha smudged at the frosted windshield of the Ranger with her sleeve. The keys were already in the ignition and the suspension shifted under her weight when she swung into the driver’s seat. She turned the engine over as soon as Storm hopped through the other door to sit by her side. With a quick scritch behind his ear and the toe of her boot dragging along through the fallen leaves, wet with morning fog, she sped off into the woods.

She had spent years taming the forest, clearing underbrush and deadfall to nurture trails into existence. The path to the property line was clear of debris and easy to maneuver in the nimble UTV and in a matter of minutes Yasha was easing the Ranger to a stop in front of a broken section of the post and wire fence.

Storm got to his feet and snuffled at Yasha’s hair until she laughed and grabbed his head in both of her big hands, roughing his face lovingly. She planted a kiss on his muzzle and clambered out of the Ranger. The bed was full of open tool boxes and various odds and ends. Yasha dug through it until she emerged with a spool of wire and a heavy stapler.

The fence supports on either side of the damaged section were tilted and Yasha knelt by one to inspect the dirt and grass ripped up at the base of it. She let the stapler and spool fall from her hands, wrapping one instead around the post. She gave it a tug but it wouldn’t budge. She sighed and stood, rounding the post and throwing her weight into it, digging her boots in and grunting until she had the post straightened. She stomped the earth back in place around it and did the same on the other side before pulling out her multitool and clipping the broken wire from both posts.

She wound up the two strands and shoved them in the back pocket of her jeans. Patching the break was a simple affair-- she snipped the wire to length and stapled it in place. When she was done, Yasha dusted her hands off on her jeans and made her way back to the Ranger.

Storm was sitting on the seat panting happily, his breath coming out in thick puffs of condensation, and he stood when she got close.

“We should probably check the rest of the fence,” Yasha slid in beside him and waited until he sat before she turned over the engine and hit the gas pedal.

The next hundred yards of fencing was undisturbed, but Yasha squinted as they approached the cabin that bordered her property. There was a light on inside. She slowed the Ranger and slid the gear shift into park. Her brow furrowed and she leaned over the steering wheel. “Stay here, boy,” she muttered and stepped down into the grass.

Storm cocked his head and watched his master take slow steps towards the fence until she had the wire in both hands and was craning her neck to catch a better look at the fluttering movement coming off the back deck.

It was a flash of blue, snapping in the breeze-- a silk robe draped over the back of a chair. In the chair was a woman curled around a book with one foot on the arm of the chair and the other draped over it at the knee, kicking along.

Yasha blinked.

The woman reached up behind her head to pull a pen free from her messy top-knot. Her body coiled as she tensed in to scribble in the book, and then released. She stretched, bending back until she was fully extended, draped over the chair like she’d fallen there with her hoody unzipped and her shirt riding up.

Yasha flinched back, releasing the post she’d found herself hugging, stumbling backwards a step before turning and walking quickly back to the Ranger.

“The fence is fine over here,” she muttered to Storm, his ears pinned back, “we’d better keep moving.”


	2. I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not editing this bullshit, here take it.

“ _Phew_ ,” Yasha leaned on her rake and trapped a glove under her arm, pulling her hand free to wipe the sweat from her brow. The sun was out but the air wouldn’t hold any of its heat. She tugged at her jacket until the snaps gave way and the crisp breeze blew in around her body.

She twisted to find Storm snoozing on the porch. Her lips pressed in a small smile and she threw an arm out, gesturing to the heaping mounds of leaves she’d spent several hours wrangling, “It wouldn’t kill you to help, you know?” One brown eye peeked open at her but slid immediately closed again.

Yasha had managed to clear a sizable portion of the area around the cabin, but there was still work to be done. She tossed the rake to the ground and shook out her arms, digging her fingertips into the connective tissue of her shoulder with a groan.

With a peaceful sigh she spun and allowed herself to drop backward-- arms stretching out with the fall-- until her body landed with a bounce among the leaves and dried grass. Her mismatched eyes sliding open to the clear blue sky above.

She heard Storm shifting, gathering his feet under him, the movement of his body as he took off into the forest after some furry thing. She glanced back, arching to see where he’d disappeared into the trees but there was only the tangled brush and the crack of twigs. A chuckle shook her lungs and she relaxed back into the leaves, closing her eyes.

“Shit--fuck--bad dog!”

Yasha tensed and lurched forward, jerking her body around to the noise.

Storm was crashing through the thicket, leaping and spinning around a woman-- the same woman Yasha had seen reading just a day before. She was small, wearing a t-shirt in defiance of the cool air, all brown skin and wiry muscle. Her arms flailed as she hopped and twisted to protect her body.

Yasha whistled sharply around her fingers. Storm gave one last enthusiastic bounce, kicking off the newcomer’s body with his spring-loaded legs and dashing back to his master. His momentum got the better of him and his skidding stop ended in a furry blur, thrashing sideways into the pile of leaves surrounding Yasha.

The two women breathed for a quiet stretch before the stranger reached up to rub the back of her neck, “Uh, hi.”

Yasha blinked slowly.

After another beat of silence the smaller woman laughed awkwardly, “Beau,” she gestured to her chest, “my name is Beau. I’m staying at the cabin down the, uh--” she pitched a thumb over her shoulder, back the way that she’d come.

Yasha cleared her throat and pushed off the ground, coming to her full height, and brushed her hands off before extending one in greeting. “Yasha,” she edged forward a step, “Yasha Nydoorin.”

The tension in Beau’s shoulders broke and a smile twisted the corner of her lips. “Yashaaa,” her voice was a deep and rumbling drawl. She closed the distance, taking the larger hand in her own. Her skin was cold against the dry heat of Yasha’s palm but the single, short pump of her arm was confident and her grip was strong.

Yasha stood before her, hands weaving around the open sides of her jacket to retreat into the pockets of her jeans. She shifted her weight and glanced around the yard. Storm pressed his waggling body to her knee.

Beau nodded broadly and followed the other woman’s attention for a moment to take in the cabin and the partially cleared leaves, before hurriedly pressing forward, “You know that place doesn’t have a furnace?” Her bravado faltered when Yasha’s scrutinous gaze fell over her and after a beat she threw her arms up in defeat, “--I couldn’t figure out the stove.”

Yasha bit her smile and bobbed her head, “Right.”

“Anyway,” Beau paused to draw in a deep breath, “the guy who owns the cabin left a note saying you were here year-round and if there was a problem…” she trailed off.

“Yeah, of course,” Yasha nodded, a hand coming up to rub her jaw. Another awkward moment passed before she ducked her head and chuckled quietly, “I’m sorry, I don’t get visitors very often.” Her arm dropped again to land on Storm’s head and she ruffled his ears.

Beau’s body lengthened-- one leg stretched out and her shoulders dipping to the side. She laughed. “No, no, I probably shouldn’t have snuck over here like that--”

Yasha straightened and stopped her with hands held up between them, her words spilling out in a rush, “No, I-- what else could you have done?” Her voice tapered, “I don’t have a phone or anything…”

Beau gave a short laugh and they fell into silence again.

Yasha cleared her throat, “--the stove.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beau waved her off, “yeah, of course, the stove. Right.”

***

Yasha leaned back onto her tailbone and pulled her knees up in front of her, dusting ashes from her hands. “There’s nothing wrong with this.”

Beau stood behind her and bent at the waist to squint over a broad shoulder into the belly of the stove, “Are you sure?”

Head turned and eyes darted up to take in Beau’s profile-- too close--Yasha leaned away, “Yes,” she huffed a laugh, “I’m sure.”

She ignored Beau’s offered hand and pushed herself onto her feet. “None of the vents are blocked and the damper seems to be working.”

The smaller woman shrugged and muttered something under her breath.

“Did you try putting something in it and setting it on fire?” Yasha asked, a small smirk flickering across her features before they eased again. “Hand me those matches,” she gestured to the box on the table just behind Beau’s hip.

There was nothing wrong with the stove.

Yasha was knelt before it, tending the hungry fire she’d started. She shifted a piece of wood into a better position and pulled her hand from the flames. She closed the cast iron door and watched the light grow brighter through the slats in it, listening to Beau rummaging around in the kitchen.

Her gravelly voice rolled around the wall separating them, “Did you want a drink?”

Yasha’s eyelashes fluttered.

“Wine?” Beau leaned into view with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She shook them enticingly and walked into the living space. The small woman had abandoned her earlier attire for a tank top and sweatpants and one of the legs had caught halfway up around a bronzed calf. She walked silently, the heels of her bare feet barely meeting the floor before she was taking another step. There was an easy confidence to Beau’s grin when Yasha’s eyes followed the length of her body up to meet it. 

Yasha let out a quaking breath, “How could I say no to that?” 

Beau quickly looked away from her. The wine glasses laced between her fingers rang out against each other when she shrugged her shoulders, “It’s the least I can do,” she hurried to set everything down on the table before disappearing back into the kitchen. “You know, since you saved me from freezing to death tonight.”

Yasha could hear her stilted laugh. “There was nothing wrong with the stove,” she stood and picked up the wine bottle by its neck, twisting her wrist to get a look at the label. She set it down and glanced back up to find Beau leaning her shoulder into the wall with those intense eyes boring into her and a corkscrew clutched in both hands.

The smaller woman jutted her chin out towards the bottle, “You know a lot about wine?”

“Oh, no, no,” Yasha ducked her head before quickly amending-- “I just know a lot about drinking it.” They both laughed quietly. “What about you?” Yasha put a finger on the cork of the bottle and tilted it, letting its weight spin it back onto its base.

“What?” Beau cleared her throat and straightened up.

Yasha smiled and shrugged one shoulder, “Do you know a lot about wine?”

Beau nodded, her whole torso following the slow bob of her head, “Uh, yeah. Kind of?” She moved to stand in front of Yasha. Her blue eyes finally broke away as she reached for the neck of the bottle. “I mean, I know a lot about drinking it too.”

Yasha took in Beau’s profile for a moment before turning her attention to the sliding glass door that led to the back porch and the view of the lake beyond.

She heard the pop of the cork.

The sun was low when Beau upended the bottle, the last few drops spilling out. Their tension had melted into an easy, humming laughter, slackened by wine and the warmth of the fire. The grate of the stove cast heavy shadows across the two women and light flickered in fiery reflections along the glasses tangled in their fingers.

Yasha licked the rich red wine from her lips and shifted closer, her weight resting on the edge of the small table that separated them. Her tongue was thick in her mouth and her teeth slick with the sweetness, “What did you say to him?”

Beau’s head fell back and when she righted it her face was plastered with a lopsided grin, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?!” Yasha slapped her hand down.

“Nothing,” she nodded, “I just waited until his back was turned and stashed it in my pocket-- got the fuck out of there,” she swung out her arms.

Yasha clicked her tongue and shook her head, teasing, “Postal theft is a felony, Beau.”

“You gonna rat me out?” Blue eyes watched the large woman shifting over the rim of the wine glass for a long beat before she knocked it back and drained the last of it.

Yasha let out a breathy snort and looked down into her own, nearly empty, glass. She opened her mouth to respond but shook her head instead.

A silence fell over them.

Beau’s voice was a low and rumbling vibration, “There was nothing wrong with the stove.”

Yasha bit down on her smile, her gaze darting up to lock on the other woman’s.

“I saw you-- yesterday morning,” she leaned forward to set her glass on the table, jutting her chin in the direction of the back door before slumping back and worrying her fingers in her lap. Her blue eyes focused on the callous she was picking at the edges of. “The owner really did leave a note mentioning you. I just--” she shrugged and let her head drop to one shoulder, glancing up at Yasha briefly between breaths, “I guess I got curious.”

***

Yasha shoved into her cabin. Storm’s head shot up at the clumsy intrusion, torn from sleep by his master’s heavy shoulder crashing into the door. He woofed quietly. The large woman kicked the barrier shut behind her.

“Hey, Stormy,” she sloughed out of her jacket and let it fall to the floor as she made her way to where he was curled up on the couch. She bent at the waist to take his face between her hands and press their foreheads together. His eyes flicked up to look at hers before darting off to the side. “Were you good while I was gone? Did you get into trouble?”

She gave him a firm smooch on his muzzle and stood, arms outstretched for balance, teetering as she toed out of her boots. She flopped down next to him and the slow, easy joy slipped away. Yasha looked down and picked dried leaves from deep in his fur.

“Her name is Beau,” she told him on an exhale.

He looked up at her. She gave the dog one last pat and slapped her hands down on her knees, hoisting her weight forward until she was on her feet. “You’re taking up the whole couch. I’m going to bed.”

The door at the end of the hall was closed. Yasha’s fist swallowed the black iron door knob and she twisted her wrist slowly, cautiously, easing the door open. The air inside was cold and stinging with a stale potpourri. She closed her eyes, stepped inside, and made her way to the foot of the bed.

Yasha took fingers to the closure of her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, shoving them down her thighs until she was kicking and stepping on them to free herself and losing her socks in the process.

And then she was falling face first onto the mattress. She lay there for a long moment before rolling onto her hip and pulling her knees up to her chest. In the pitch blackness, all she could see was the white of the blanket-- the wide expanse of empty space beside her.

She swallowed past the tightness balling in her throat.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm guessing this'll be wrapped up in four chapters, but that's a rough estimate.


End file.
